


Best Of All Possible Worlds

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Parallel Universes, Somebody dies but not Teebs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-10 21:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8940343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: Playing with paradox locks has consequences.  And in a newborn timestream, Trailcutter remembers a warning given to him in his past.  That warning will change the course of history--not only his own, but also Megatron's.





	1. The God Gambit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CavalierConvoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/gifts).



Prologue: The God Gambit

_During Elegant Chaos_

Perceptor hated being rushed into making decisions before he’d been able to consider all possible courses of action—not to mention their consequences and the ramifications of those outcomes. After all, the combination of advanced science and rash choices had gotten the entire universe _into_ this mess. Now, with the galaxy frozen outside the _Lost Light_ and the timeline collapsing around him, Perceptor opened up the paradox locks on Brainstorm’s briefcase and felt a tremor down his spinal strut. He didn’t have time to ponder its cause, though he thought it might be _fear_.

He had no time to think about where his actions might lead. If he didn’t start dismantling the paradox locks _now_ , it would be too late: for him, for Cybertron, and for the universe as he knew it. 

It felt wrong—awful and creepy and _bad_ —and so Perceptor paused for a moment and asked himself if he would rather spend the rest of his life paying for a mistake made in haste, or if he’d rather not have a _rest of his life_ at all. Because the Perceptor in the Functionalist hell taking over Rewind’s archive wouldn’t be any more _him_ than the dead Perceptor-shell that Nightbeat and Nautica had seen in the quantum duplicate _Lost Light_ was _him_. Perceptor didn’t know those two people. They’d had experiences that he’d never shared; they were strangers. Perceptor did not want to vanish and be replaced by a stranger, even if that stranger were physically identical to himself.

Perceptor had never been able to prove, or disprove, the existence of an afterlife—it was the sort of question he’d revisit (or not) once he’d actually died and in doing so acquired some hard data with which to work. He felt rather the same about Primus, or any other permutations of deity. In the meantime, he had more confidence in his own ability to solve problems than in the possibility of a god (or even a higher being) hearing his petitions and choosing to respond. 

But as Perceptor picked open the first of the paradox locks, he had a fanciful and rather unsettling idea: that Primus had been neither an advanced intelligence nor a benevolent creator, but a rushed and panicked scientist, inventing on the fly, and all of the known universe was merely a by-product of God’s last-ditch attempt to stave off disaster.

#

The lock cracked open.

Countless permutations of reality sprang from theory into fact. An infinite number of universes exploded with possibility.

_I am become Life, Creator of worlds._


	2. The Road Not Taken

_After MTMTE 33; prior to MTMTE 34_

_The day after the events of “Home for a Rest”_

Trailcutter looked at the bottle on his nightstand, shook his head in disbelief, and climbed out of his berth. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this first thing in the cycle: steady on his feet, clearheaded, no aches in his joints, no churning in his fuel tank. And despite his best efforts to return himself to his former home in Drunk City, it felt as though the train had pulled out of the station and left him behind.

So. Chief of Security, then. Trailcutter supposed he ought to touch base with Rodimus or Megatron and ask whether there were any security concerns making themselves known in the aftermath of the recovery operations. The _Lost Light_ disappearing, people reappearing, people floating in space…surely there was something that he ought to be doing?

He wasn’t used to this. He was supposed to be the guy who got shunted into some boring joe-job until Rodimus needed a forcefield. Now he was _Chief of Security_. He didn’t know where to even start.

He thought about contacting Megatron, and then he hesitated. That business yesterday, with the poetry reading…that was _weird_ , wasn’t it? 

It was _also_ weird that he remembered feeling uneasy and anxious about being all chummy with Megatron. He’d reached for the Nightmare Fuel to give his whirling brain a break. Relax. Chill out. Except it hadn’t worked and here he was, sober and worried and fully cognizant of what was going on in his head and wondering what to do next.

Trailcutter’s gaze fell on something next to the empty bottle. A book. Megatron’s book. _Towards Peace_. 

Maybe he wouldn’t be needed to do any work after all. Would shore leave be so bad? The vistas on the _Lost Light_ ’s viewscreens looked beautiful, and it might be nice to sit in the long grasses, the sun warming his plating, and read the next chapter of _Towards Peace_. 

Megatron’s book was…well, he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but he was having more and more trouble reconciling the author of the text with the horrific tyrant he and his fellow Autobots had so feared during so many long years of war. He was, however, having an easier time reconciling the author of the text with the _Lost Light_ ’s new co-captain. If Megatron himself had renounced that tyrant, surely others could too? What was the alternative? Telling Megatron he was no longer permitted to play any other role but that of the monster—that there was no point in even attempting to minimize the damage he could do? Trailcutter could not see that course of action ending any other way but in heartbreak and loss for everyone.

Trailcutter’s own feelings about Megatron was a topic that Trailcutter felt in no way prepared to think about without the assistance of intoxicants, so he decided to defer it until he was sitting in a patch of sunlight on Ofsted XVII, perhaps after he’d read a few more chapters and gotten a better sense of Megatron in his own words. 

It was a sound plan, and yet something worrisome nagged at his mind. Trailcutter didn’t know how to dismiss an intrusive thought without liquid assistance. He didn’t know how to stop thinking about it, and so he had to consider it. _Ofsted XVII_. What was it about that name that felt so familiar?

He needed to talk to someone. Find out for certain if he was needed on the job or if he could take shore leave. Should he ask Megatron, or Rodimus? 

_I should just get over it and talk to Megatron_ , Trailcutter decided, but when he ventured into the shuttle bay, he saw Rodimus there instead, standing next to a shuttle. “Going planetside?” Rodimus asked. “Hurry up. Time to get this party started. We’re off to Ofsted XVII!”

 _Ofsted XVII_ , Rodimus said, and Trailcutter felt a tremor in his spark. Trailcutter’s memory snapped, suddenly, into focus.

Long, long ago—back before the war—he’d promised Rodimus that he would never go to Ofstead XVII. Rodimus didn’t explain what was so bad about the place. Trailcutter—he’d been Trailbreaker then—had never even heard of it. 

That was a strange thing to ask, Trailbreaker had thought, but Rodimus had been so insistent. The tone in his voice had been so urgent. The look in his optics had been so agonized.

Then Rodimus and his crew had gone back to wherever they’d come from and Trailbreaker had gone for a drink with Roller and…and… It was hard to remember. Too many years. Too many drinks. Information creep, making recollections blurry around the edges. Engex corrupting memories further. Without familiarity—without an emotional anchor to either the place or the action—Trailbreaker often found himself forgetting where, exactly, he wasn’t supposed to go. Otfed something-or-other.

He would probably have forgotten entirely if it weren’t for Rodimus. Years later he’d met up with Rodimus again and asked him for a reminder. Where, exactly, had he promised to stay away from?

Rodimus’s answer had been very strange.

Rodimus didn’t remember where he’d told Trailbreaker not to go. Rodimus didn’t remember telling him anything. Rodimus insisted, bizarrely, that he’d never even met Trailbreaker before. Also, he’d insisted his name was Hot Rod.

Trailbreaker had been drinking engex—he’d been drinking engex quite often at that point in his life—but Rodimus (Hot Rod?) had been completely sober. And Trailbreaker hadn’t been drinking _that much_ so early in the evening. At that point in his life drinking had still been primarily a social activity, and the engex, an easy way to make himself funnier and more confident and generally the kind of person that other people liked to be around. No, he shouldn’t have misunderstood Hot Rod’s reply. 

He recalled that he’d mumbled something about someone who must’ve looked and sounded very much like Hot Rod, and Hot Rod had muttered that he’d better not have an evil twin out there, and then he’d grinned and laughed and said he’d kind of liked the sound of the name “Rodimus.” And then Jazz had turned up and the subject had changed and Trailbreaker had let it go, because he still felt embarrassed for what _had_ to have been a screw-up on his part, because he did have a tendency to screw up everything that wasn’t a forcefield, and he just wanted to forget about awkwardness and embarrassment and go back to being the easy-going party guy who liked to make friends.

But he’d thought about it all night, and the next morning as well, and he was still _certain_ that it was Rodimus—Hot Rod—who’d begged him so desperately not to go to Of-wherever Seven-or-something. The whole thing felt _weird_. So weird that he remembered it, even all these millions of years later.

So weird that he remembered it now.

“Hey,” Trailcutter said slowly. “Didn’t you once tell me not to go to one of the Ofsted planets?”

Rodimus blinked. “What? No. Why would I say something like that?”

“You did,” Trailcutter insisted. “You were in a panic. You begged me to swear.”

“Pfft. You just wanna hear me beg. Too bad, big guy.”

“Rodimus. I’m serious.”

Rodimus gave him a sharp glance. “Hah, Megatron was wrong. Can’t wait to tell him.” He beamed.

Trailcutter scratched his head. “Tell him what?”

“That his little sobriety cure didn’t work and that _you_ , my friend, are fendered.”

“I’m not fendered!” Trailcutter felt almost guilty for protesting, because he _had_ supplemented his energon with a bottle of Nightmare Fuel. And what a mistake that had been. Not because he was overenergized—he definitely was _not_ —but because the immediate kick of Nightmare Fuel instantly transported the consumer to a mental state where the _flavour_ of the stuff didn’t matter. Well, Trailcutter hadn’t felt the kick. He’d had to taste every last damned swallow until—with the bottle still half-full—he couldn’t make himself gag down any more. He’d rinsed his mouth with the sweetest energon he could find, and _still_ he could taste the sour, grimy flavour of Nightmare Fuel clinging to his lips.

What had he _ever_ seen in that stuff? Trailcutter hated admitting that his love for it had to have been based entirely on its ability to offer a high-speed ticket to Drunk City. Well, not any more. If his permanently-engaged FIM chip could handle Nightmare Fuel, it could handle anything, and Trailcutter would never be intoxicated again.

Rodimus leaned closer, squinting at Trailcutter. “Is that Nightmare Fuel I smell?”

Trailcutter sighed. There was no way for him to convince Rodimus that the Nightmare Fuel had no effect on him.

“So,” Rodimus said with a grin, “you coming or not?” He gestured into the shuttle bay, where First Aid, Bluestreak, and Mainframe stood waiting to board a transport to the planet’s surface.

He probably _should_ go. Just in case they ran into any security concerns down there. And if they didn’t, then he would enjoy grass and warm sunshine and the book riding in his subspace pocket…

A shiver ran down his spinal strut. It reminded him of one of Kup’s old sayings—a feeling like someone walked over your grave.

Trailcutter opened a comm link. “Hound, this is Trailcutter.”

“Hey Trailcutter. What can I do for you?”

“You, ah, you want some shore leave?”

“What, really? But I’m supposed to be overseeing the last of the recovery operations.”

“Which you did while I was recharging, and now I’m awake, and ready to take over.”

Hound sounded bewildered. “Uh…sure? I guess?”

“Hound,” Trailcutter said patiently, “I’m the Chief of Security, not you. And I know how much you miss the chance to be in nature when you’re stuck in a ship in the middle of space.”

Static crackled over the line. For a moment, Trailcutter thought Hound might deny it. Instead, when Hound finally spoke, he said, “That’s terribly kind of you, Trailcutter. All right. I accept.”

Trailcutter lifted his head. “Rodimus? Hound will be taking my place on shore leave.”

The captain frowned. “Really?”

“Really,” Trailcutter said firmly. “I’m the security chief. I have work to do here.”

_Ofsted XVII. Stay inside the ship._

_I promise, Rodimus_.

Trailcutter had that funny feeling again, and with it, a sense of growing _wrongness_ —as if, on some level, the universe had abruptly spun its wheel to the left and gone off-road. As though he _should_ have gone on shore leave, and by _not_ going, he was interfering with the established order of things. It was almost enough to make him change his mind, except that he didn’t want to give Hound a day off only to suddenly take it back, and…and…

…and the feeling passed.

Trailcutter took a deep breath.

A new universe settled into its course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Cav, and thanks for being my space wife and partner in crime for so many years :)


	3. Drink With Me (To Days Gone By)

There really wasn’t much left to do on the recovery operation. Trailcutter’s contribution consisted primarily of reading some notes that Hound had left for him during Ultra Magnus’s post-operation debriefing and walking around for a while looking supervisor-ish. Trailcutter had never felt more awkward. There had to be _something_ that supervisors did, something more than standing about uselessly while other people worked. At this point everyone had figured out what they needed to do and were hard at work doing it, and Trailcutter couldn’t find a single mech who was slacking off, or breaking safety regulations, or doing something wrong—nobody who could justify the need for the Security Chief’s supervision.

There was nothing like getting started on a job after the difficult part was already done. Trailcutter started to feel that familiar worthless feeling creeping back into his spark. They hadn’t even needed him for his forcefield….

Then the door to the bridge slid open.

 _Megatron_.

“Report,” Megatron said by way of greeting.

“Uh.” Trailcutter suddenly found himself tongue-tied. He wasn’t used to being in a position of authority. Yeah, that had to be why he suddenly felt self-conscious and uncomfortable under Megatron’s gaze, even while another part of his mind perversely loved the attention. What was up with that? 

He’d think about it later. He cleared his throat and forced his lips to move. “Um, rescue operations are concluding, Ratchet and Hoist are in medbay checking everyone over, on-duty personnel are at their stations, and shore leave is proceeding in an organized fashion.”

“Good.” Megatron nodded. “Have you seen Rodimus?”

“He took one of the shuttles to the surface.”

Megatron frowned. “He’s supposed to be on duty.”

Trailcutter shrugged helplessly. “Not really a lot to do. Everything’s normal. Everything’s working properly. Unless something unexpected happens, this is going to be a really quiet day.” He shook his head. “As long as we can reach Rodimus by comm if there’s an emergency, he can be on duty down there as easily as up here.”

Megatron looked at Trailcutter intently. “I’m surprised you’re not down there.”

Trailcutter fidgeted. He didn’t want to try to explain his foolish…what was it? Premonition? Corrupted memory? Delusion? “I got a job to do,” he hedged. “I let Hound take my place.”

Megatron nodded. “I’m glad to see _someone_ on this ship taking his duties seriously.” Trailcutter felt his spark grow warm. He couldn’t help it. Could it be he really was doing a good job?

“But,” Megatron said, and Trailcutter’s mood came crashing down.

“Let me give you some advice,” Megatron continued. “If you try to stay on full alert all the time, you’ll burn out and be of no use to anyone. If it really is as quiet as you say, I suggest you keep your comm with you and take some time to relax.”

“Oh.” Trailcutter hesitated. “Um…”

He became suddenly aware of the other mechs in the room. Some of them were still glaring daggers at Megatron, while others were pointedly ignoring him by feigning intense interest in datapads or routine maintenance. Jackpot flashed Trailcutter a grateful look, and Trailcutter guessed what it was: as long as Megatron’s attention was on him, Megatron wouldn’t bother anyone else.

“Can I talk to you about fuel standards in this ship’s mess and service establishments?”

Megatron raised an optic ridge. “Of course.”

“Specifically, Swerve’s. Would be easier to show you.”

Trailcutter felt his faceplates heating. He wasn’t sure why. Asking someone to help conduct a fuel quality audit was in no way a social invitation.

“This is a good time for it,” Megatron agreed. “Proceed.”

#

“Don’t worry,” Trailcutter said to Swerve. “We’re not here to shut you down. We’re keeping Ultra Magnus happy, running a few routine tests, and enjoying a drink or two.”

“I’m supposed to be closed,” Swerve whined. “I’m supposed to be catching the next tender planetside.”

“We can serve ourselves.”

Swerve looked skeptical. “I’m not sure I should leave you alone in my bar.”

Trailcutter sighed. “Haven’t you heard I’m sober forever now? And I’ve got Megatron watching me.”

“Better you than me,” Swerve said, and left.

Trailcutter turned to Megatron, who had ignored their entire conversation in favour of testing Mirage’s fuel stores. “These all look fine according to the readings,” Megatron said.

Trailcutter sighed. “I kind of lied.”

Megatron raised an optic ridge. “Really.” Trailcutter wasn’t sure if that was an inquiry or a statement.

“Ultra Magnus _does_ want fuel quality checks done on all the establishments that serve it. But I don’t want to talk to you about fuel standards. I just wanted to get somewhere alone so I could say that I…”

Trailcutter felt his voxcoder clench. He coughed and continued, saying the words quickly before he could regret them.

“I don’t know what to do with time off now that I’m not getting fendered. And I didn’t want to admit that in front of the crew now that I’m supposed to act security-chief-like.”

Megatron’s expression was unreadable. “So that’s why you’re working non-stop. You’re desperate to fill the empty hours with something else.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Trailcutter protested. “I _do_ take the job seriously. I don’t want to let anyone down. But….Yeah. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Megatron folded his arms. “So why are you having this conversation with _me_ of all people?”

Trailcutter drew in a breath and prayed for courage. “Because you said you didn’t read me all your poems the other night.”

Megatron’s arms fell to his sides. “Are you _serious_.”

“You don’t have to,” Trailcutter hurried to say. “I just thought, since we both had down time, well…”

Megatron glanced around the empty bar. “A poetry reading. Stage and all.” He sighed, shook his head, and looked at Trailcutter with a rueful glance. “I’m onto you.” 

Trailcutter had no idea what he meant. “Huh?”

“Don’t give me that nonsense. You’re well aware, _Security Chief_ , that I have little to do in my own down time other than stay in my quarters and think, and it makes Rodimus nervous. He thinks I’m plotting something nefarious.” 

“Are you?” Trailcutter couldn’t help but grin.

“Well.” Megatron flashed a smirk of his own. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, Security Chief.”

Trailcutter suddenly felt a lot braver. He spoke quickly, before the feeling passed. “Gonna go do something nefarious now?” Trailcutter challenged. “Or are you going to get up there and read?”

# 

Megatron had a real knack for oration, but Trailcutter found his mind wandering from the content of the poems. He remembered his drunken fantasies the night he’d passed out in Megatron’s quarters. Dreams of the strong mech with the warm frame who’d tucked him into bed and watched over him all night. Hopes that he might be invited to come back—sober, this time—for cuddles and…who knew what might come next?

Those dreams had been dashed in the morning when he’d woken up and found none other than the former Decepticon leader next to him. At that moment, Trailcutter had just wanted to get out of that mess alive. And if Primus was willing to grant him a second blessing, without being utterly disgraced.

Megatron had not been interested in ruining Trailcutter for his indiscretion, though he’d been as good as his word about consequences the next time he caught Trailcutter drunk. He’d also given Trailcutter the Chief of Security job. Trailcutter _had_ felt the need to talk to Megatron about permanently engaging his FIM chip against his will, but in the end, he’d decided not to ask Ratchet to attempt to disengage it. He was Chief of Security now, and he knew he couldn’t trust himself around intoxicants. It was time for him to make his own choice, and he chose to face life sober.

He was still afraid, though, of screwing up his second chance, and worse than that, of having to face loneliness and awkwardness without engex as a crutch. He could tell himself that he’d realized that if Megatron were truly to be rehabilitated, he needed to start building some connections with other people on the _Lost Light_ —that if Megatron were always treated as a pariah, he’d eventually seek, or be found by, someone who would treat him as a person. Better if that connection were with someone trustworthy. And Trailcutter _did_ need the distraction from craving a buzz he could no longer achieve, a buzz that would blur solitude and shame into irrelevance.

But in truth, Trailcutter wondered now if the reason he had sought out Megatron was because there was something to his drunken fantasy after all.

Because Megatron _had_ taken care of him. Made sure he was safe. Talked Ultra Magnus out of punishing him. Been very careful to respect Trailcutter’s vulnerabilities when he was too drunk to consent. And, knowing Trailcutter wouldn’t trust him, Megatron had asked Magnus to record footage from the security cameras in his quarters, so Trailcutter could see the proof for himself.

Megatron had been kind to him. After a lifetime of playing the good-time guy, Trailcutter knew some people laughed at him while others scorned him. Megatron had done neither.

And now Trailcutter wondered if his fantasy had been rooted in reality all along. 

If there was some way Trailcutter could find out what it was like to be held in those strong arms sober…

Trailcutter shook his head. He was thinking about _Megatron_ , after all. The famous gladiator. The imperial warlord. Megatron, if rumours were to be believed, had taken mechs like Starscream and Deadlock and Thunderwing to his berth. Trailcutter had spent enough time on this ship to know that he’d never have what Drift had: the looks, the grace, the _edge_ that said _I’m dangerous; take me seriously._ Surely Megatron would laugh if Trailcutter made overtures to him.

Drift had played the hippie the way Swerve played the clown, and Trailcutter had played the good-time guy long enough to recognize a fellow actor. Drift’s peace-and-white-light act was almost a parody for a reason: it was a curtain covering pink-stained fangs and the constant presence of more swords than Drift could hold at one time. The truth at Drift’s heart was the sort of thing that would discomfit Autobots, but was probably ridiculously attractive to Decepticons. Autobots valued the ability to get along in a group. Decepticons valued the ability to make yourself stand out and be respected.

And Drift had fit in, if not comfortably, on the _Lost Light_ because he’d found a socially acceptable role to play. Trailcutter already knew Megatron wouldn’t, even if he _could_. Megatron spoke his truth and let all hell follow after in his wake.

Trailcutter couldn’t be any more different if he tried. His true self was awkward, fuel-inefficient, blocky, average in every way save for the forcefield that was a quirk of his birth. The only thing special about him and it…

_You know what you could do with it._

_You could wrap your forcefield around a brain module and crush it._

_You could strangle a spark._

_You could drop Megatron right now._

Except he couldn’t, and he knew it. The act was possible in the abstract, but in the actual, Trailcutter knew he’d never be able to take another life, not even Megatron’s. He used his forcefields defensively because he wanted to protect his friends more than he wanted to harm his enemies. 

The old Megatron would have laughed at him. The new Megatron, though…

Or rather, the _original_ Megatron. Trailcutter couldn’t shake the feeling that the author of _Towards Peace_ would have approved of defensive forcefields. 

Still, Trailcutter couldn’t believe that forcefields alone would be enough to get Megatron’s attention. Not with Starscream and Deadlock and…

…and none of them were _here_. Trailcutter’s fuel pump sped up with sudden hope. 

Immediately he felt guilty. He shouldn’t be glad that Drift was gone, exiled for something that wasn’t his fault. And even if Drift _were_ here, he’d seen Drift with Ratchet. He doubted Drift would dump the CMO for Megatron. 

So. Drift busy with someone else. Starscream back on Cybertron. Thunderwing dead. No gunslinging outlaws or pretty Seekers or shined-up Vosian warlords here on the _Lost Light_ to catch Megatron’s fancy. Nobody here but Autobots who, at best, _tolerated_ him.

Maybe Trailcutter had a chance after all.

And if he only had that chance because Megatron was lonely and desperate and Trailcutter was the only one sitting here listening to his poetry, well, Trailcutter would be okay with that. 


	4. Next Verse, Same As The First

“Do you want to hear something a little different?” Megatron asked abruptly.

Trailcutter hoped he didn’t look as startled as he felt. He’d been daydreaming while Megatron recited his poetry. Not because he wasn’t interested, but because his mind had insisted on dredging up his drunken fantasies about the tall, strong mystery mech who’d looked after him when he’d gotten wasted and stumbled into a room in the officers’ quarters. That person had ended up being Megatron, and at first Trailcutter had been disappointed that the mech of his dreams had turned out to be an illusion and a mistake. But now, Trailcutter was wondering if he’d been right the first time all along.

And then his life-long companions, the negative voices in his head, decided to make their opinions known.

_Talk about out of your league—not to mention conflict of interest! You’re the Security Chief, and surely Megatron is the biggest risk to security that the_ Lost Light _has!_

_Maybe he made you Security Chief because he thinks you’re completely incompetent and he’ll be free to plot whatever nefarious plot is in his mind today…_

_Shut up,_ Trailcutter thought as loudly as he could. _I don’t need my own brain putting me down. So I have a crush on Megatron. So what?_

Now, though, Trailcutter realized he was in trouble if Megatron wanted to discuss the content of the poems he’d just recited. “Uh, what?” he stammered.

Megatron raised his head and looked at some point in the back of the room. It was a noble pose, very proud and fierce and authoritative, but Trailcutter sensed what Megatron was doing.

_He’s averting his gaze._

_He doesn’t want to look me in the eye._

_Any other mech would look at the floor, but this is Megatron. He’s hiding it by looking imperious, but it’s the same escape._

“I’ve got another chapbook,” Megatron said, addressing some invisible audience behind Trailcutter. “Different content.”

“Sure,” Trailcutter said agreeably. He was up for pretty much anything, except… “Uh…it’s not super gory or anything, is it?” He didn’t know if he could sit through a hundred verses of How To Torture Autobots.

Megatron dropped his gaze to Trailcutter’s visor. “No,” he said softly. “Rather the opposite.”

“O-okay,” Trailcutter stammered, knowing it couldn’t possibly be what he was thinking it might be, except that Megatron began to speak, and it _was._

Love poetry.

Megatron wasn’t talking _to him_ , of course, but Trailcutter could _pretend,_ and he pretended right now, as hard as he could, telling himself it would be okay as long as he remembered at the end of the recitation that this was a performance and not a date. This was a rare opportunity and he was damned well going to enjoy it.

He _did_. Especially when Megatron got really into character and came down off the stage, sitting across the table from Trailcutter, looking deeply into his optics as he recited.

It ended all too soon. The echo of Megatron’s words faded and the silver ex-Decepticon came back to himself, leaning back in his chair, putting distance between himself and Trailcutter now that they were captain and security chief rather than lover and beloved. 

“I liked it,” Trailcutter said, and then cursed himself, because how stupid and meaningless was that? He should at least say _what_ he liked. “It was…um, it was believable. You know what I mean? The emotions, the way you described them, it felt real.”

Longing for someone who you feared would never love you back—at least, not in the same way, or to the same degree. Trailcutter knew _exactly_ how that felt. It was the story of his entire love life set to verse.

“Thank you,” Megatron said, a little stiffly, all his usual eloquence gone. “I’ve never shared some of those before.”

“Really? Why not?” 

“Impactor told me…” Megatron broke off, looking reflective. “Heh. Impactor told me _he’d_ listen to me, but I’d better not recite any of these in front of any of the other miners, or I would get the slag beat out of me.”

“Because they were about him?” Trailcutter asked, feeling impossibly jealous. “Or for him?”

“What? No. Impactor was my…my friend, I suppose. My best friend. We didn’t talk about it much. It was…mutually understood. No, Impactor knew that if the other miners tried to beat on me for going soft, he would have to stand up for me, and even Impactor didn’t relish a fight against those odds.”

“So who were you writing those poems about?” Trailcutter dared to ask.

“Well, at first I used to go to plays and films during my days off. The Vosian Opera House gave you standing room for two shanix. I think at first I was trying to understand the emotions I saw in the stories I watched. Very few of those poems have survived to the present day.” Megatron chuckled. “There’s nothing as pathetic as writing done with neither experience nor research. You’re all right as long as you have at least one of those, but in the absence of either…” He shook his head. “Atrocities, really.”

“No, I did have a crush.” Megatron’s gaze turned distant. “You would know him as Warlord Trannis. At the time, I knew him as the security supervisor at the mine.”

Trailcutter felt his spark surge with stupid, ridiculous jealousy. 

“It was a bad idea, of course,” Megatron continued. “Operational Security was there to keep us miners in line. Trannis was in charge of a pack of goons who ended up in security because their fists were their most useful attributes. He tried to rein them in but…” Megatron shook his head. “To this day I’ll never know if Trannis was truly a decent person or if he thought the best means to his end was to pose as one.”

Trailcutter got the sense from that statement that whatever had gone on between Megatron and Trannis was well and truly over now. Gone, finished, history. It gave Trailcutter a strong feeling of relief. 

Megatron raised an optic ridge. “You know, I don’t think most of my Decepticons…my _former_ Decepticons…ever knew about that.”

“So, uh, why are you telling me?”

“I’m spending a lot of time these days dredging up old memories. Things I haven’t thought about in millions of years. I know I can’t simply rewind five million years but…I wonder, if I can regain a sense of who I was _then_ , perhaps I can figure out how to move forward from there, on the right path this time.”

_Good luck_ , said one of the nasty little voices in Trailcutter’s mind. _You’ll always be known as the tyrant, the monster._

_Hey Trailcutter,_ the other chimed in. _I guess there_ is _something worse than just being known for a forcefield._

_Shut up_ , Trailcutter repeated. He summoned his courage to lean forward and put his hand on the table next to Megatron’s. Megatron startled when their fingertips brushed, but Trailcutter noticed that he didn’t pull his hand away. 

“If there’s ever any way I can help,” Trailcutter began. He didn’t know what to say, exactly. He didn’t want to offend Megatron by implying he needed help, and he didn’t know what kind of help someone like him could offer to Megatron anyway, but surely the mech needed to know that he wasn’t utterly alone, and that there was someone who believed in him. Someone other than Ravage, who Trailcutter didn’t trust not to do his best to drag Megatron back into his old bad habits. 

_You’re the Security Chief, and the best way to keep this ship safe is to keep Megatron committed to changing his ways._

_It’s just a bonus if you like his company._

So Trailcutter talked, hoping he could find the words to express his intentions. “I mean, if you ever…”

Suddenly both of their comms went off at once, and Trailcutter no longer needed to fumble around for something intelligent to say. He lifted his comm to his audio. “Trailcutter.”

“Trailcutter, this is Bluestreak, emergency at following coordinates.” 

Even as Bluestreak gave the coordinates, Trailcutter was running for the door, transforming as soon as he hit the corridor, gunning it for the shuttle bay. Megatron, he noticed, was right on his heels up until he changed shape. 

“Shots fired, Autobot down. Mainframe, First Aid, and Hound are engaging two Decepticons inside an abandoned lecture theatre.”

“Where’s Rodimus?” Trailcutter blurted. A moment later he regretted it. He was Security Chief. He should be handling this situation.

A little voice piped up in his head, and Trailcutter was shocked at what it had to say.

_Someone’s been hurt. The Captain needs to know. And you need backup. You can’t go charging in alone. You don’t know what you’re dealing with._

_I thought you promised Rodimus never to set foot on Ofstead XVII._

_Shut up_ , Trailcutter insisted. _Skipping leave is one thing. Loafing around up here while people need me is completely different. And I’m not going to risk anyone’s life for a…a fuzzy memory or a bad feeling or even a premonition._

“Rodimus is inbound,” Bluestreak reported.

“Anyone else?”

“Having trouble raising anyone else. Warp gates are wreaking havoc on the comms.”

“Okay, I’ll handle it. What’s your location?”

Bluestreak told him. “I had to get clear to send the distress call.”

“Okay. You think you can go back and help Mainframe and the others?”

“Wilco, out.”

Trailcutter changed shape in the hangar bay. The first mech he saw was Getaway, sneering up at the Rodpod with an expression of disgust. The mask over Getaway’s face did nothing to hide his obvious distaste. “Getaway!” Trailcutter called. “I want you to contact Ultra Magnus and get him to bring an armed strike team to these coordinates.” 

Getaway looked startled. “What? Why?”

Trailcutter steeled himself. “Because I’m the Security Chief, this is an emergency, and that was an order.”

What was he going to do if Getaway laughed at him? He didn’t have time to waste trying to convince him he was serious. 

But Getaway straightened up, said, “Yes, sir,” and opened his comm link. 

It was like living in a parallel reality. Trailcutter felt as though he’d become someone else overnight. He sprinted towards the shuttles, where he saw Doublecross climbing out of the cockpit of his personal vessel, _Twinferno_. 

“Doublecross, get back in there!” Trailcutter ordered. “There’s an emergency planetside and you gotta get me there a.s.a.p.!”

The dragonformer startled. “Sure, Chief, you’re the boss.” He climbed back into the cockpit and opened the doors. Trailcutter sprinted up the ramp into the shuttle.

Trailcutter commed Blaster, who was managing air traffic. “Blaster, priority one for the shuttle _Twinferno_.”

“We waiting for anyone else?” Doublecross asked from the pilot’s seat.

Trailcutter felt torn. He didn’t know if he could spare the time to call around and see who was available for a landing party. He should get down to the surface right now. But what if he got there and the only backup he had was Rodimus? 

Then Trailcutter saw someone burst through the doorway.

Megatron, at full run.

Trailcutter didn’t think. He reached out his hand and gestured and Megatron changed direction, rapidly approaching the shuttle. 

“Just one,” Trailcutter said. 

“We’re ready for liftoff at your command,” Doublecross said.

Megatron’s foot hit the boarding ramp. A second later, he stood beside Trailcutter inside the shuttle. Trailcutter slammed the button that closed the doors.

“We’re go,” Trailcutter said to Doublecross. 

“Hang on,” the pilot replied, as the _Twinferno_ began to move.

“What’s this?” Megatron asked, and Trailcutter realized that Megatron had followed his command without demanding an explanation first.

“You’re my backup,” Trailcutter panted.


	5. No Takebacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Be warned in advance.

__

“I…I don’t think I can be your backup,” Megatron said. 

“What?” Trailcutter didn’t try to keep the dismay off his face. The two of them were already aboard Doublecross’s shuttle, the _Twinferno_ , racing towards Ofstead XVII where Bluestreak, Mainframe, First Aid and Hound were pinned down in a battle against two Decepticons. The warp gates from the recent battle between the Black Block Consortia and the Galactic Council were interfering with communications, and Trailcutter could only hope that Getaway was successful in contacting Ultra Magus. Trailcutter would feel a lot better if the former Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord was on the scene. 

_Why’d we have to leave Fort Max behind on Luna 1?_

That was an irrational response and Trailcutter knew it. Fort Max was definitely overkill for two Decepticons. He surely wasn’t worth the security risk of having him lose his temper again. 

Still… 

Rodimus had apparently heard the emergency call, but…. “What if Rodimus is alone?” Trailcutter demanded. “Someone’s already been hurt. What if it’s just me and him and you against those Cons?” 

Megatron took a deep breath. “I can ask those Decepticons to stand down. I can _tell_ them to stand down. Again. But I…I don’t have any weapons, Trailcutter.” 

“You _are_ a weapon.” 

“And if I kill someone then I won’t have changed at all, will I?” 

Trailcutter felt a weight settle in his fuel tank like a stone. “Then how are you going to protect your crew, _Captain_?” 

Megatron stared at him. 

“Because that’s what it’s about. _Protecting your crew._ They aren’t here to serve you. You’re here to take care of them.” 

The ex-Decepticon set his jaw. “Then if two of my _old_ people want to kill two of my _new_ people and aren’t willing to listen to reason, I will put myself in between them and walk up to those Decepticons and take their guns away.” 

Trailcutter bit his lip. That was, honestly, the best possible response: if Megatron would not fight, then at least he would shield his crew. But Trailcutter didn’t like the idea of Megatron trying to disarm two Decepticons who’d think nothing of blasting away at him the whole while. 

Or would they? This was _Megatron_. Fool’s energon or not, Megatron was pretty tough, and he had a reputation like none other. If they were lucky, these two Cons would drop their weapons, tear off their badges, and run at the sight of their former commander. 

And if they weren’t lucky? 

“You’ll have a forcefield if you do,” Trailcutter blurted. 

Megatron gave him the faintest hint of a smile. 

“Brace yourselves!” Doublecross called. “We are coming in _hot_.” 

Trailcutter tore his attention away from Megatron and his maybe, possibly, smile. “How close to the coordinates are we?” Trailcutter asked. 

“It’s a big academic complex. I’m setting this thing up to touch down in a courtyard.” 

Trailcutter glanced at Megatron. Megatron nodded grimly. Trailcutter supposed that Megatron had done a lot of this sort of thing, and there was something funny about the fact that they’d done it on opposite sides of the war, and certainly from radically different ranks—Megatron at the top and Trailcutter near the bottom, with only his rating as a Specialist to lift him out of the platoons of grunts—and yet there was an obvious shared experience. 

Then the shuttle landed with a skip and a bump, and Doublecross popped open the doors. 

Megatron sprinted down the ramp with Trailcutter hard on his heels. “Hey, wait!” 

Megatron shot him a glare of annoyance. 

“Let me go first. So nobody…reacts wrong.” Trailcutter hoped Megatron knew what he meant. He didn’t know how to explain it in a manner that wouldn’t be insulting. Thankfully, Megatron dropped back and let him take the lead. 

Trailcutter didn’t bother changing shape. His truck mode wouldn’t easily handle the steps leading up into the building. His robot mode took them three and four at a time, racing into the lecture theatre with Megatron on his heels. 

“Bluestreak.” Trailcutter tried his comm link. He heard nothing but static. He reset it and tried someone else. “Rodimus?” Again, nothing. 

Trailcutter hesitated inside the entryway, not sure of where to go. Not until he heard gunfire--followed by a scream. 

Trailcutter ran towards the sound, torn between the urge to bring help as quickly as possible, and the knowledge that rushing headlong into danger might only make the situation worse. Nothing in his life had ever been harder than stopping just outside a door and _waiting_ , taking the time to survey the scene before entering, while someone inside shrieked in agony. 

Trailcutter looked and felt his fuel tanks churn. 

Mainframe lay prone on the floor in a puddle of fuel. First Aid knelt over Mainframe, elbows deep in his internals, while Bluestreak and Rodimus provided cover fire. Hound… Trailcutter couldn’t let his optics linger on Hound, nor could he parse the carnage he saw. He would have to do it later. He couldn’t do it now or he wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done. 

Two Decepticons faced off against Rodimus and Bluestreak. One of them, a mech in red, was sickeningly familiar. Trailcutter knew what that mech could do, even before he threw an electrical bolt from his fingers, knocking Bluestreak to the floor. Bluestreak fell and lay there twitching. 

_Amp_ . 

Trailcutter remembered Amp from the Outliers Academy. Amp had been their last recruit before the little group came apart. Roller had disappeared. Prowl had snatched up Skids and Mirage. Trailcutter and Windcharger had gone into the army. And Amp… 

Amp and his best friend Glitch had just sort of vanished. 

Amp had been a peculiar fellow. He’d liked animals, Trailcutter remembered. Orion had chided him for feeding his rations to turborats and petrorabbits, luring vermin to the Dugout. Amp had nodded his acquiescence, but glared balefully at Orion’s back when he turned to leave. Amp had liked animals a lot more than he’d liked people. 

Except for Glitch. Trailcutter remembered feeling nervous when Amp had started hanging around with Glitch. Glitch had been shy and painfully awkward—even more so than Trailcutter. Trailcutter had been afraid that Amp would hurt Glitch. 

Now here was Amp, wearing a Decepticon badge, acting every bit the sadist that Trailcutter had always feared he was. 

Was the other mech Glitch? This mech was taller and spindlier than Glitch had been, and he had two optics and a mask, if not a proper face. That was still more than Glitch had had when Trailcutter had first met him. Trailcutter remembered when Glitch had gotten a set of hands to replace his claws. Had he gotten a new head in the time since? A new body to go with it? 

Trailcutter didn’t have time to study the other mech in any more detail. He had to analyze the situation and decide what to do. Satisfied that there were only two Decepticons, Trailcutter summoned up his strength, raised his hands, and projected a forcefield around Amp and his friend. 

Just in time, too. The second Decepticon changed shape, becoming a powerful sniper rifle. Amp snatched him up and snapped off a shot that would have blown off Rodimus’s head had it connected. Instead, it hit the forcefield and ricocheted back, causing Amp to jump, and the other mech to fall from his hands and transform, landing in a crouch on the ground. 

The two Decepticons glowered at Trailcutter, who tried to ignore them. It took all his energy and concentration to keep the forcefield from shattering under the force of the sniper’s blow. 

“Trailcutter!” Rodimus said. 

Bluestreak rolled over and groaned. 

The rifle mech said something that sounded like Old Cybertronian. It sounded like a question. 

“I’m sure we killed this one before, too,” Amp said in reply. 

Something nagged at Trailcutter’s mind. Rewind, and a second _Lost Light_. The DJD. 

Megatron came up behind Trailcutter, moving to the side. Trailcutter didn’t dare break his concentration, but from the way the two Decepticons looked to his left side, Trailcutter guessed that Megatron was standing there. 

“Kaon. Vos. Stand down,” Megatron said. 

_Kaon_ . _Vos._ Those names confirmed that these two were part of the Decepticon Justice Division. They were the ones who’d slaughtered the new Rewind’s friends. 

Trailcutter felt sick with terror, but he couldn’t let his fear take control of him. A grunt soldier might be forgiven such a failing. A security chief wouldn’t be. 

“Lord Megatron,” Amp said reverently. “These Autobots are yours.” 

“They are not!” Rodimus protested. “They’re _half_ his. We’re co-captains and…” 

Megatron cut him off. “The war is over.” 

The rifle mech spoke again in Old Cybertronian. 

“They aren’t, are they?” Amp asked, apparently in response to the rifle’s comment. 

“Those are not rumours,” Megatron said firmly. “Those are _facts_. The war is over and the Decepticon cause is no more.” 

Amp and his companion exchanged open-mouthed stares. 

“Where’s Tarn?” Megatron demanded. 

Amp pressed a button on his forearm rather than replying. The rifle said something Trailcutter didn’t understand and gestured vaguely towards the roof. 

“You tell him to _stand down_ ,” Megatron repeated. “And that I’m going to contact him on his devoted communicator. _Explain_ this to him, since he clearly didn’t understand the _first_ time. Are we clear?” 

Amp and his associate exchanged glances. Trailcutter couldn’t read the rifle’s expression, but the look of dismay on Amp’s face was obvious. “What _first time_?” Amp sneered. “All we’ve heard is rumours. Urban legends. Mutterings in dark corners with no proof at all.” 

Trailcutter felt sick. Had Megatron…had Megatron not done anything to stop his killing squad? Or had he truly believed his message would reach the DJD and that Tarn would stand down upon hearing it? 

“Amp,” Trailcutter said. 

Amp lifted his empty optic sockets to Trailcutter. “It’s _Kaon_.” 

“Kaon,” Trailcutter said, proud that his voice barely wavered. “I’m going to drop the force field and then I’m going to give you something. I’m going to slide you my datapad. It’s got a message on it.” 

Trailcutter caught a glimpse of motion in the corner of his optics. Megatron had moved his head. 

Trailcutter turned to him. “No?” he mouthed. “They’ve seen it already?” 

Megatron bowed his head. “Do it,” he said quietly. 

Trailcutter’s fuel tank churned, but his feelings about what Megatron had and hadn’t done weren’t the priority right now. He focused his attention on Amp…no, _Kaon_. “I want you to take this message back to Tarn and then I want Tarn to read it and get ready for Megatron’s call. We cool?” 

Kaon looked at Megatron. 

“Do it,” Megatron said sternly. 

“Fine,” Kaon retorted. 

Trailcutter dropped the forcefield. 

“No, don’t!” Bluestreak said, but Kaon and Vos didn’t open fire. Trailcutter took the datapad out of his subspace and sent it sliding on the floor of the amphitheatre towards Kaon. The rifleformer—Vos—intercepted it and picked it up. 

Kaon lifted his own datapad. “You up there, Helex? This is Kaon and Vos requesting remote collection. Coordinates Ofsted 6166/4122.” 

“None of you are to do anything until I speak to Tarn,” Megatron said. 

Trailcutter wasn’t sure if they heard. Kaon scowled right at him, and Trailcutter felt his spark leap into his throat, despite the fact that he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

_Amp. What happened to you? Where’s Glitch?_

Vos made an obscene gesture at Rodimus. 

Then a golden sheen came over the two Decepticons, and they vanished from sight. 

Just in time, too. Bluestreak rose up suddenly on his knees and snapped off two shots at Kaon. But the Decepticons dematerialized before the shots could connect. They bored two holes in the far wall and gave off smoke. 

Bluestreak turned towards Trailcutter and scowled at him, much as Kaon had. “They killed Hound and you let them go!” 

Rodimus leaned over First Aid. “How’s Mainframe?” 

“I think I’ve got him stable.” First Aid wiped his brow, leaving a smear of energon behind. “For now. We’ve got to get him back to the _Lost Light_ ’s medbay, fast.” 

“I have a shuttle for you,” Megatron said to First Aid. He raised his comm link. “Megatron to Doublecross and the shuttle _Twinferno_. I have a Priority One medivac…” 

Bluestreak’s expression tightened. He swung his weapon from the spot where Kaon had been standing towards Trailcutter. Trailcutter held his breath but the muzzle moved past him. Trailcutter vented, and the muzzle stopped—pointing right at Megatron. Trailcutter’s breath caught again. 

“This is your fault,” Bluestreak yelled. “Your…your _grotty little fan club_ killed Hound!” 

Megatron didn’t deny it. He looked at Bluestreak and just kept talking on his comm. Trailcutter realized that Megatron was calling Hoist on the _Lost Light_ to get the medbay ready. 

Trailcutter took a deep breath and moved sideways, until he was between Bluestreak’s gun and Megatron. 

“Get out of the way,” Bluestreak snapped. 

“Mainframe is our priority,” Trailcutter said bluntly. “Mainframe and First Aid. We have to get them back to the _Lost Light_ ’s medbay now.” 

“But…” Bluestreak said. The gun wavered in his hand. 

“Save Mainframe now. Worry about everything else later,” Trailcutter insisted. 

Bluestreak bowed his head and lowered his weapon. Trailcutter should have been proud of himself. A few weeks ago he’d never have believed himself capable of talking someone down like that. Instead his mind was already jumping to the next thing that needed to be done, while his emotions simmered, a low-grade mixture of worry and sorrow. 

“Rodimus,” Trailcutter said. He felt weird ordering his own captain around, so he phrased it as a request. “Could you take Bluestreak onto Doublecross’s shuttle?” 

Rodimus didn’t even argue. “Come on,” Rodimus said, wrapping his arm around Bluestreak’s shoulders. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” 

Megatron let Rodimus lead Bluestreak out of the lecture theatre before he approached First Aid and Mainframe. First Aid gave Megatron directions and Megatron hoisted the injured Mainframe easily in his arms. 

Trailcutter caught Megatron’s optic. “Send somebody back for me and…” He nodded towards Hound. 

“I will,” Megatron said on his way to the door. 

Then Megatron, Mainframe, and First Aid were gone, leaving Trailcutter all alone…with Hound. 

Trailcutter knelt down and looked into Hound’s shattered optics. They’d blown out, as if from a powerful surge of electricity. Trailcutter had seen Amp practicing with his powers before. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. 

Later, Trailcutter would have to debrief First Aid, Mainframe, and Bluestreak. Later…once First Aid was done saving Mainframe’s life. If Mainframe pulled through. Later, once Bluestreak calmed down. Trailcutter was afraid Bluestreak might be another Fort Max waiting to happen. 

Trailcutter supposed that if Amp and his friend were DJD, the Autobots should count themselves lucky with one fatality. 

But Trailcutter couldn’t help but feel doubly guilty. He was the Security Chief. It was his job to keep everyone safe. He had failed. 

And the only reason that Hound had been here on Ofsted XVII to begin with was because of him. 

_You sent him to his death in your place._

_How could Rodimus have known? How could he have known that this was going to happen? Even if he says he doesn’t remember. He had to have known there was danger here or he wouldn’t have told me not to come. So what did I do? I told Hound to come here, and look what happened._

Trailcutter tried to calm his racing thoughts. He didn’t want to fall into a trap of fabulous delusions. Maybe Rodimus hadn’t said anything. Maybe Trailcutter had experienced a dream. Or a premonition. Trailcutter had not had any logical reason to believe that there was danger on Ofsted XVII. Nor had he ever intended harm to Hound, or to anyone. 

_And you couldn’t have known the DJD were lurking here. Maybe nobody could’ve._

He’d find out at the debriefing. Right now, he had a job to do. 

Trailcutter opened his comm and got hold of Blaster, who he asked to recall everyone back to the ship. He also told Blaster to check for any non-Autobot comm signals or life signs. If the rest of the DJD were nearby, or if there were any other dangers out there, Trailcutter was going to be ready. 

He’d let one Autobot down. He wouldn’t let them all down. 

His comm line pinged with an incoming call. He signed off with Blaster and picked up. It was Ultra Magnus with a strike team, as requested. Trailbreaker appraised him of the situation and asked him to coordinate the Autobot withdrawal from Ofsted XVII. 

Then he dropped to his knees and gently picked up Hound in his arms. 


End file.
